


Stay in the Moment

by TWDObsessive



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Feels, First Kiss, First Meetings, Love at First Sight, M/M, POV First Person, POV Rick Grimes, Past Child Abuse, Psychology, Soulmates, Therapy, excessive use of inspirational posters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 21:55:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9259004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TWDObsessive/pseuds/TWDObsessive
Summary: Rick has mandated therapy after his first kill in the line of duty and talks with a therapist about it. During his first visit, he meets someone that really catches his eye in the waiting room.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VengeanceAngel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VengeanceAngel/gifts).



> Beta’d by the wonderful Stylepoints. (Do NOT ask her how many times I used the wrong "your/you're"! It's embarrassing! LOL! This is also where I remind you all how hard beta'ing is! Thank goodness for Style!)
> 
> This fic is gifted to VengenceAngel for no particular reason whatsoever. And I'd like to let Legolastarial know that I'm finally introducing my first ever OC per her challenge! (who may or may not be modeled after someone I may or may not have met)

I hate inspirational posters. The shrink’s office I was mandated to be at three times a week was littered with them. I had been trying to get to my first appointment ten seconds before I was due because I couldn’t stand waiting rooms. I looked around at the walls as I walked to the reception desk. 

_Stay in the moment_

_You are important_

_You can’t take care of anyone else if you don’t take care of yourself_

_You Got This!!_

If it was that easy, no one would need to be here in the first damn place. Then I saw the clock and gave my watch a double take. Fantastic… as is my luck, my wristwatch stopped and I found myself twenty minutes early instead of ten seconds early. I walked up to the desk clearly irritated. 

“I’m accidently early,” I grumbled to the brunette receptionist. “Any chance…” I glanced down at the business card the Sarge had given me, “that Angel is ready for me yet?”

“Your name?”

“Rick Grimes. I was ordered here for therapy. Nothing’s wrong with me,” I said defensively. I was a man. Men don’t need therapy. Men are fine. We are always fine.

“Well, Rick Grimes, I’m Tara. And I hate to tell you, but something’s wrong with everyone and if you were mandated here by the Atlanta PD, like I see here in my records, I’m sure there’s a reason.”

I rolled my eyes at the psychobabble I was getting already, just from the receptionist.

“Soooo… Can I go right in or no?”

She looked at me like I had two heads and one of them was a turquoise unicorn. “Defs not, Dude. In fact, our therapists are usually super overloaded. There’s usually a wait."

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I growled.

“Sorry, bro. Also- looks like you have mandated visits three times a week for a month. So you and I should get friendly. Here- bump it,” she said, with her fist through the receptionists window. I walked away leaving her unbumped and dropped dramatically in one of the miserably uncomfortable blue chairs. 

“S’ok Officer Friendly. You _will_ bump it before the month’s up.” 

I grabbed a magazine to try to force an end to the annoying conversation. All they had were Better Homes and Fucking Gardens. But staring at ‘Landscaping Disasters: Before and Afters’ was better than trying to make polite conversation.

I thought I was going to be in the clear for my twenty plus god-knows-how-many minutes of waiting but the door opened and another patient walked in. Christ, I hoped he wasn’t a talker. Or one of those schizophrenics. I don’t know that I have the patience to tolerate… actual patients.

I glanced up from my spread of Rachel Ray’s herb garden and was completely surprised. The guy talking to Tara was… for lack of a better word- manly. Broad shoulders, rugged country accent, dirty jeans and a sleeveless shirt.

“Hey, Tara. Can you let Carol know I’m here whenever she’s ready?” he asked with a much kinder tone to his voice than his appearance would have you expect. He certainly did not look like someone who would voluntarily walk in here. Maybe a court-ordered addict or ex-con. He sat down in the chair across from me (after giving Tara the requisite fist bump) and picked up another issue of Better Homes and Garden’s)

“Ain’t seen you here before,” he said, without even looking up from the magazine. Shit. He’s a talker. 

“First time. Have to for work. Nothing wrong with me.”

“You insinuatin’ there’s somethin’ wrong with _me_? he countered, now looking directly at me with narrowed eyes… incredibly smokey blue narrowed eyes.

“No, man. You probably don’t want to be here anymore than I do.” I shot my eyes over to Tara praying she was ready to call my name.

“It helps me to be here,” he said quietly, a lot more passive of a response than I had expected. He flipped a page as he said it and glanced back up. “You’ll feel better after you talk to someone,” he said confidently.

“I feel fine now.”

He put the magazine down and looked at me like he was studying for a test. “You a cop?” he asked nodding at the APD ball cap that was covering my unruly curls. I was three week’s past a haircut and as I ran a hand along my cheeks I realized for the first time in a while that I’d grown a beard since last I shaved. I nodded.

“You shoot someone? Isn’t that why you guys usually end up here?”

“Daryl,” Tara called from the window, “No talking about personal issues in the waiting room.”

“He ain’t got no personal issues, Tara. Ain’t you heard? He’s fine.”

She rolled her eyes and walked away as Daryl redirected his gaze back to me. 

“Well, Did ya?” he asked quieter.

I nodded. “What you do?” I asked, gaining confidence.

His face softened and I could feel the weight on his shoulders pull him down as if gravity dialed up a notch in the spot he was sitting in. 

“It was you all. Y’all didn’t do nothing for a long time,” he answered cryptically, pointing to my cap.

“What’s that mean?” I asked, finally lowering the magazine that I was never really reading anyway.

“Means no cops came to save the day all them years my daddy was molestin’ and beatin’ me.”

I think I literally stopped breathing at his words. You could hear a pin drop in that quiet waiting room. “Shit, man. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He shrugged. “Wasn’t your fault. Was years ‘fore you were probably on the force. Wasn’t my fault either. That’s what I learned here.”

“Course it wasn’t your fault, man.” Christ, I suddenly wanted to hug him and cry on his behalf.

The door opened and a young, perky, brunette stepped out. “Rick Grimes?” she called. 

“That’s me,” I said standing. 

“I’m Angel. Come on in, hon.”

I looked over at Daryl. 

“You’ll be fine, man. ‘Member, there ain’t nothin’ wrong with you,” he said, cracking a smile that lit up the entire waiting room and made me smile back despite my current circumstances. 

I followed Angel to her office and sat down on a small couch that faced a shelving unit with a doll and some puzzles on it. I did not feel like I was in the right place.

“So, Rick, What brings you here today?”

“Isn't it in my chart?” I asked pointing to the file she had opened in front of her.

“I’m not here to read. I want you to _tell_ me why you’re here.”

I shrugged. “Sarge made me.”

“So why do you think the Sergeant wanted you to come in?” she asked.

I shrugged again. “You always have to when you kill someone on the job.”

She nodded. I could tell she had a hell of a lot more patience than me. I was already getting on my _own_ damn nerves. My eyes kept flicking over to the clock on her desk that was not facing my way. I was supposed to pick Carl up at 4. If my appointment was 2-2:45 I’d have plenty of time but I always worried over time and not seeing a clock was going to make me crazy when ironically I was supposed to be sitting there in order to keep me from going crazy in the first place.

“Okay. I understand that. But let’s not talk in generalizations. Let’s talk about you and what happened when you opened fire.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes and briefly wondered what Lori might be telling Carl about it. He was eleven. He didn’t need to know everything. Hopefully he didn’t. I’d told him I was just on vacation from work for a while but Lori was fighting about having my visitations supervised and I don’t know how much of that Carl understands. 

“Rick?”

“Yeah?” 

“What are you thinking about right now as you are procrastinating answering my question?” she asked with a knowing smile.

“I just… I was just hoping that my son doesn’t know about all this. His mother is making a big fucking dea- shit… sorry about my language.”

“It’s totally fucking okay, Rick. We’re all adults here. Go on.”

I smiled at her. “Well, she’s making a big deal that because I discharged my weapon and haven’t been through the police mandated therapy yet that I’m a danger to Carl and what happened has nothing to do with that. I have to pick him up at four, you know. What time is it?”

“I don’t want you to worry about the time in here right now, Rick. I’ll worry about that for you. You will have plenty of time to get your son. I see in your record that the supervised visit request was denied, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why are you worrying about it right now?”

I blinked, opened and closed my mouth. Then opened it again. “It’s not just that-- it’s what he’s going to think about everything. And I worry that he’ll… that all this is going to hurt him. He’s already been through hell because of the separation in the spring. The divorce is just recently final and now this. And also I don’t have anything in my fridge so I have to take him to the grocery store after and I never know what to cook or what he likes and I feel incompetent and maybe it should’ve just been me.”

“First of all, that’s a lot on your mind at once. Second of all, what did you mean that maybe it should have just been you?”

“The one who died.”

Angel nodded. “A lot of cops I see in here feel that way. It’s very common. Survivor’s Guilt. Even has a name.”

“And I don’t want to… I don’t want my little bit of stress over this to affect how I act around him and I feel like I don’t even know who I am anymore and did you know I was talking to a guy in the waiting room and I think I was attracted to him? I didn’t even know I was gay! Is that possible? Is that a thing that can-”

“Rick. Let’s slow down a bit and breathe. Do your thoughts race like this often?”

“Doesn’t everyone’s?” I answered stupidly.

“No,” she smiled. “There’s an easier way to manage that. Let’s try an exercise.”

Shit. I really needed to exercise again. I hadn’t been to the gym since Lori walked out. I hadn’t even weighed myself.

“Rick I want you to take two deep breaths and after each one, blow out the breath like you are blowing out a birthday candle.”

“Why?”

“Humor me, Rick. Would ya?” she asked sweetly.

I did as she instructed and hoped maybe obedience would get me out of therapy quicker like maybe early release for good behavior.

“Now, we are going to do this grounding exercise to keep you from getting overwhelmed. We are going to do 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. First you’ll look around the room and tell me five things you see, describe them. Then you will tell me four things you hear. Then three things you feel. Then two things you smell. Then one thing you taste. I’m going to walk you through it. Are you ready?”

I nodded out of defeat. “Okay, Rick. Tell me five things you see.”

I looked around the room and landed on the shelves. “I see a doll that has no clothes on and probably should.”

“Duly noted,” she said with a smile. “What else.”

“A puzzle. Looks like Dolphins. An inspirational poster that says _Stay in the Moment_.”

“Okay, that’s three. Two more.”

“A clock that isn’t facing me,” I added as she snickered at my response. 

“And a plant.”

“Okay, that’s good. Now take a breath and tell me about four things you hear.”

I took a deep breath and listened carefully to the surroundings. There wasn’t much to hear and I really had to strain my ears to listen. “The sound of the vent. The sound of the chair squeaking.”

“That’s good, Rick. Two more.”

“The sound of your voice,” I answered and then I put all my energy into straining to hear a fourth thing. “A door closing down the hall.”

“Good job. Now three things you feel, physically feel like maybe your neck is cold or the way fabric feels against you.

“Well, now that you mention it, my neck is cold,” I answered and she smiled again. “The sofa is kinda comfortable and soft. And my beard is a little itchy from growing it in.”

“Great. That’s good. Now two things you smell.”

I took a few deep breaths through my nose trying to pinpoint something. “Flowers or something. Probably from that potpuri,” I said pointing and then inhaled again. “And the detergent from my shirt.”

Angel nodded with a smile and handed me a bowl with mints. “I like to keep a bowl of peppermints around for the last one. Peppermint is calming.” I took one and concentrated on the taste and nodded. 

“Okay. How was that? Did that help get you grounded and mindful and back in the moment?”

I nodded. I couldn’t believe it. I was now officially one of those whack jobs that needs psychological tricks to get from one day to the next.

“So… now that we are back in the moment-” A ringing phone interrupted her. She glanced over just a moment and then back to me. “Why don’t you tell me about what happened on Thursday that made you get the mandated sessions?”

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” I asked as the quiet office phone beeped and lit up.

“Nope.”

“What if it’s-”

“Rick. What happened on Thursday?”

I sighed and fixed my eyes on the _Stay in the Moment_ poster. “I was working. Shane and I were lights and siren after a car that had just robbed a Pharmacy. They were going fast. We were going fast. They lost control and the car flipped. Shane and I were in standard formation for the situation and I saw the two guys emerging from the vehicle with guns.” I stopped there and moved my focus to the doll. It made me think about the guy in the waiting room. How young must he have been during his abuse? Poor guy. Also- Did I mention out loud in a babble fit that I found him attractive a few minutes ago?

“Then what happened?” Angel pushed.

“They… I… I shot.” I glanced at the back of the clock. I felt like I’d been in the room for _HOURS_. I started tapping my foot and pressed my fingers to the bridge of my nose. I’d had a headache for days.

“So you shot. Then what happened?”

I shrugged. 

“Is this topic making you anxious?” she asked.

“Of course it is,” I answered with more attitude than she deserved. I had four more weeks of this. There had to be a way I could get out of it. I just wanted to get back to work. Or, I don’t know… maybe I didn’t. Maybe I needed to find a new line of work. I hadn’t cleaned the apartment yet. And if I didn’t have enough time to get back to the house to clean first, I’d probably disappoint Carl. I didn’t want him to think I didn’t have myself pulled together.

“Rick. Tell me what your thinking. Don’t just think it.”

“I have to clean the house,” I answered honestly. 

She signed at my obvious evasion but kept that kind smile on her face. I hoped that guy Daryl had as patient and kind of a therapist as I did. I’ve seen _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_. I knew they weren’t all this sweet and understanding. 

“Okay. That’s good. Let’s put that aside and loop back later,” she said as she jotted cleaning the house down on a piece of paper to show her sincerity about returning to the topic. My eyes darted again to the useless clock.

“How did you feel when you pulled the trigger?” she asked delicately.

She knew. I knew she knew. I could tell by the way she looked at me, the way she asked the question. She read the file and she could tell I was avoiding the conversation and she knew why.

“Rick?” she asked pulling me back to the moment. 

“Disappointed in myself. Angry.”

“Why angry?”

I sighed and pressed my fingers to the bridge of my nose again. “I had tried to disarm him. He was a damn kid. Couldn’t have been much older than my son.”

“Is that standard protocol?”

“No,” I answered defeated. “Standard protocol is to shoot if we’re drawn on.”

“Okay, I get that. You didn’t want to shoot the kid so you tried to disarm him. I have kids too, Rick and I can certainly understand that instinct. This was your first kill, right?”

“Yes.”

“Never elsewhere either? Military or anything?”

“No.”

“Talk to me about what happened next.”

I could feel my chest tighten and tears start to glass over my eyes. She knew. She pulled out a glass square filled with water and blue floating blobs that moved slowly like a lava lamp. “You can center yourself by looking at this if you need to.”

I looked at the dumb thing and watched the slow steady movements. She waited patiently until I was ready to talk. 

“How can you do this job and remain so upbeat?” I asked. “I mean, Christ, there’s a guy I talked to in the waiting room who was molested by his dad as a kid and still must be fighting demons like twenty-five years later.”

“My job can be challenging sometimes and I use a lot of the coping techniques we’ll be going over the next few weeks,” she said in an unexpected moment of camaraderie over my plight. “We aren’t here to talk about me or your friend though. We’re here to talk about you.”

I watched the slow patterns of moving blobs in the glass. “I… I tried to disarm him. He was stronger than I anticipated. I fought with my gun still in my hand. Shane shouting to me that it wasn’t protocol.” I stopped and watched the blobs. Angel didn’t push. She gave me time to get where I needed to. I took a deep breath because one of her stupid inspirational signs said _Breathe_.

“The gun went off in my hand during the struggle. My finger did it. And back-up arrived just in time to take them both into custody so I could… so I could check on Shane. The misfire hit him in the throat. He died in my arms.” It was the first time I said it out loud. It felt like vomiting- painful and unpleasant… but necessary. My breath was shaky and my eyes were blurry.

“You know it’s okay to cry, right, Rick?” 

I wiped tears on my sleeve as she passed me a box of tissues. 

“How does the accident make you feel?”

“It wasn’t an accident. I didn’t follow protocol. It was my fault.”

“You didn’t aim at him on purpose and fire either, did you?”

“It should have been me,” I said for the second time since I’d been there. 

“Rick, if Shane saw a child and tried to disarm him for the same reason you had, and he misfired… would it be his fault?”

“I… I… No. It just… it would have been easier for everyone if it was me.”

“Survivor’s guilt is a-”

“I found out afterwards that he’d been sleeping with my ex-wife before she was my ex-wife. I found out when I called to tell her that I couldn’t pick up Carl because of what happened. I told her… Shane. She couldn’t hide it from me any longer when she started crying hysterically. If I’d have been the one who died, they could have been together all one big happy family without Carl having to be shuffled between a broken home. 

“Do you think Carl would have wanted his father to die?” she asked, knowing the answer already.

“No.”

She turned the clock around. It was 2:15. “Talking about it is the first step. You also seem to have a lot of anxiety over the divorce and I’m assuming that’s part of what had you wanting to spend therapy time talking about cleaning your house,” she suggested as she held up her scrap of paper. “Let’s stop for now. But on Wednesday I think we’ll have a lot to talk about. Divorce and a kill in the line of duty and the complicated dynamics between the two is a lot to digest for you and I can see the anxiety and stress it’s causing. We’re going to talk more and I promise… there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. We just have to get there.”

I took a tissue, blew my nose and nodded. “Thanks. Sorry I was a dick about the clock and shit,” I said, deciding that Angel was clearly okay with the foul language. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Rick. I want to leave you with one other thing to try once before our next session. When your mind gets carried away and you need to ground yourself, remember the 54321 exercise. But I also want you to be mindful and stay in the moment so next time your thoughts are overwhelming you, I want you to concentrate ONLY on physically what you are doing and where you are. Like saying in your head- I am turning on the faucet. I am washing my hands. I am reaching for a towel. Can you try that for me?”

“That sounds impossible,” I said with a soft laugh. 

“Give it a try and we’ll talk next time about how it goes okay? You’re going to be okay, Rick. You don’t need to act like you’re fine when you clearly are struggling. You are dealing with some major problems. It’s okay to need help.”

I nodded. “Thanks, Angel.” I said and I walked out the door. The waiting room was empty and I was thankful for it because I really didn’t want to be seen with watery eyes. But part of me must have been hoping to see Daryl again. For some reason, he really got my attention.

My cell tinged with a text message as I neared my car and I pulled it out and read as I walked. It was Lori.

_Carl wanted to have a sleep-over at Ronnie’s and I’m sure you didn't want to tell him no. You can pick him up there in the morning and have him for the day._

I stopped walking a few feet from my car and felt hot tears coming. She was going to do everything she could to keep him away from me. To punish me for what I’d done. 

“Hey, man. You okay?”

I turned to face Daryl from the waiting room. He wasn't crying. Why was I?

“Fine,” I whimpered.

“Oh that's right. I forgot. Nothing's wrong,” he said with a gentle grin, his rough, working-man’s hand nudging my forearm playfully. The kindness sent me over the edge and I erupted into sobs right there in the parking lot.

He put a hand firm along my lower back and guided me to the vehicle I was clearly walking to, trying to get me out of the road. 

“Seriously, man. First time can be really overwhelming but you clearly needed to talk some things out. It’s okay to be overwhelmed and to cry.”

To hear a perfect stranger comforting me like that, and a blue collar redneck at that, it just seemed to make things jumble up even worse in my head. “My ex-wife is trying to keep me from seeing my son,” I confessed to him. I had no idea why. He had this intense stare like he was willing to listen to every word I said. I could see sympathy swirled up in the blues of his eyes. 

“That sucks. Is she just a bitch or is she trying to act like there’s a reason?” he asked. He seemed to be in no hurry to leave me alone crying in the parking lot. In fact I’d gotten the sense that he was incredibly loyal and Christ could I use someone like that in my life right now. It was then that I remembered his issues.

“I feel pathetic crying about stupid shit after all you been through. I don’t have-”

“Rick, right?” he interrupted confirming my name. I nodded. 

“You don’t got to compare your terrible shit to my terrible shit. We all got problems and the worst thing that happened to me is the worst thing that happened to _me_. The worse thing that’s happening to you is the worst thing that’s happening to _you_. That makes us equal, man. You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout my shit. You’re the one that needs a hand right now.”

Fucking tears. Goddamnit I never used to fucking cry. Since the divorce though, and especially after Shane then finding out about Shane being the reason for the divorce… Christ. I was either a wall of blankness hiding behind a mask from everyone in public or I was curled into the fetal position on my bed.

“She doesn’t want me near him because of the shooting.”

“Your job to shoot bad guys. Don’t she know that?” he asked as he handed me a red hanky from his pocket. I took it and wiped at my tears like a damn woman. “You can keep it if you wanna blow your nose in it, dude. I got plenty,” he added.

I did blow my nose and made a mental note that I owed this guy one red snot-less handkerchief. “Wasn’t a bad guy. I… made a bad decision and ended up in a physical confrontation and my gun went off. Shot and killed my partner.” It was the second time I said it out loud and I stood tall and tried to be strong, waiting for his judgement, tightening my stomach like I was gonna be punched. Christ, I felt like I deserved to be punched. 

“Shit, man. I’m so fucking sorry.”

My shoulders relaxed at not being blamed and I nodded at his condolence. “The divorce was just made final a little while back. I didn’t find out until after Shane died that she left me because she was having an affair with him.”

His eyes widened. “HOLY FUCKING SHIT! And you thought your shit wasn’t as bad as mine?! I got news for you, bro. You will probably be spending a lot of time here. I recommend you go ahead and just fist bump Tara. She’ll nag you till you crack. Might as well get it over with.”

I laughed through some tears.

“You ate yet?”

“Huh?”

“It’s ‘bout dinner time. You wanna get a bite to eat? There’s Hilltop Diner ‘round the corner. Wanna head over there?.”

I looked at him up and down as my vision cleared from my tears finally running dry. I remembered mentioning to the therapist how I’d unexpectedly found him attractive. I wouldn’t mind spending some time looking at someone like him and listening to the comfort he was giving me. I’d like to get to know him. I’d need some support, some friendship… and I lost every single friend during the divorce. I nodded wordlessly and climbed into my car and drove to the diner. I noticed he was riding a motorcycle as he pulled up beside me and that made him even more of an enigma. A sensitive, damaged, emotionally fearless, biker. I climbed out as he waited for me with his helmet under his arm.

“We ain’t gotta talk about it if you don’t want to. Can if yah do. Just thought you could use some company,” he said as he opened the door to the restaurant.

I nodded again and muttered a thank you now that my tears were under control. We sat at a corner booth and quietly flipped through menus.

“Turkey special’s good,” he said. When the waitress came we both ordered the Turkey Special and two Root Beers. 

I played with the wrapper of my straw not quite up for the task of leading any kind of conversation. 

“How old’s yer kid?” 

“Eleven. He’s… he’s such a good kid,” I said with a proud smile. “Just made the honor roll.”

“He’s lucky to have a good father,” Daryl said. I looked up at him as I wrapped the paper around my finger. 

“I’m so sorry that you didn’t have one,” I said with more sincerity than any sentence I’d ever uttered. My heart really did break for him. 

He gave me a terse nod. “I’m dealing. You’ll learn to deal with your shit, too.”

“How long you been seeing a shrink about it?” I asked.

He squinted like he was trying to do the math in his head. “‘bout four years. Had trouble with relationships and shit and finally just… well… didn’t want to live like that anymore.” 

The way he said it allowed me to read between the lines. “You tried to kill yourself?” I whispered.

He nodded. “Slit my wrists like a girl. My brother found me. He dialed 911 and I could hear him calling for help in between informing me that wrist slitting is how girls do it so it was no wonder I was gay.”

“Oh. You’re gay?” I asked not even sure if it was politically correct to come right out and ask that. 

“Yeah. Sorry I didn’t mention it. Does it like make you nervous or anything? You didn’t strike me as a homophobe.”

“No… no… I’m… I don’t… It’s cool,” I said tripping over my own tongue.

“Anyway- was hard being physical with boyfriends. I found them attractive. I wanted to be physical with them. But… things just never worked out. So I tried to opt out… and at the hospital, y’know they make you go through all kinds of therapy after that and it helped. So I just keep going. Couple times a month at this point but it was couple times a week for a long while. Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of. You’ve been through a trauma-”

“I _caused_ the trauma,” I interrupted.”

“Why’d ya break protocol?” he asked as our meals were dropped off.

“The kid… man, he was just a kid. Coulda been Carl. I couldn’t shoot. At the very least if I knew I wasn’t gonna be able to shoot I shouldn’t have still had the gun in my hand. I made a thousand and one mistakes that led to-”

“One time I walked into my house after I was out drinkin’ with my brother," Daryl interrupted. "I was fourteen. I could barely walk. Merle had gotten a jar of homemade moonshine and it was the first time I ever drank. He was trying to make a man of me. He got beat from the ole’ man too. He thought that’s all I was getting. But I was getting the belt and… the other stuff because he’d found magazines under my bed and for some reason in his head I deserved to be punished for being gay so he started raping me when I was twelve. Anyway- when I walked in at fourteen drunk and vulnerable… that was the worst time of all. I couldn’t fight him off I was so fucking drunk. He dry fucked me. Called his friends over while I was half-passed out and they did it too. One of them pissed on me afterwards. You think it’s my fault that I got drunk and walked into my house where I knew there was a dangerous man?”

“Jesus, Daryl. No. You were fourteen-”

“And you were doing your job. You made a judgement call. So did I. I coulda just slipped into my room unnoticed… no big deal. And you- you could just disarm the kid quickly and not have killed anyone. Ain’t no room for blamin’ ourselves. Bad shit happened to me and bad shit happened to you. You’re gonna suffer from some PTSD, some depression probably. But that don’t mean your life’s over. Still got yer kid and I’m bettin’ he looks up to you like crazy.”

“He did. God only knows what his mother is filling his head with.”

“Fuck what she says. You get your boy tomorrow and you let him know how loved he is and if you want to explain everything that happened to him, do it. If not, don’t. Then take him fishing or play some Xbox. You ain’t gotta do much to make him admire you. You get this upset about not getting to see him then it’s clear you love him and you're a good dad.

I nodded as I shoveled a forkful of mashed potatoes in my mouth. “You ever able to make relationships work?” I asked, partially to reciprocate the concern and partly to find out if my sudden palpable interest in him was anything I had a chance of pursuing. Lori had been my first and only, but I’d always been the kind of guy who could admit which Hollywood men were good looking. Who could admire nice broad shoulders and a sexy smile on a man. I’d just been married so long I hadn’t considered the alternatives.

He was poking aimlessly at his green beans as he answered and he suddenly seemed shy. “I’m… I can kiss and … cuddle and… some things. I just… there’s certain things I can’t do and that turns a lot of guys off… that I have limits.” He didn’t look at me at all during his answer.

“I miss kissing and cuddling. Especially right now. All this with Shane. I’ve had three bombs go off one after another. Lori leaving me. Me accidentally shooting my partner, my friend. Then me finding out he wasn’t that good of a friend and Lori wasn’t that good of a wife. It’s hard to grieve all that under those circumstances.”

We were both quiet for a few bites of the cherry pie that came with the special before I continued. “I lost all my friends in the divorce. You want to come over and watch a movie or something? I got Jurassic World from Netflix today.”

He looked up and smiled. That grin of his lit up his face and his eyes seemed to shine bluer when he was happy. I’d like to keep him happy. 

“Rick? You hittin’ on me?” he asked.

“I think so. Yeah,” I whispered.

“I don’t do sex,” he said like he needed to get that out of the way.

“I don’t even know if I’m gay. Kinda just wanted a little comfort tonight. Y’know? Just comfort. Someone who I can be myself around right now without having to put on masks.”

I smiled as he made the universal hand signal for the check. 

He followed me to my crappy barely-furnished apartment. The only couch I had was a love seat and the only TVs I had were in my bedroom and a smaller one in Carl’s. “I haven’t really taken the time to get the place situated yet even though it’s been months. Will it freak you out if we watch it in my bedroom?” I asked, thinking back to how badly I had an urge to hug him when he first told me of his abuse, how vulnerable he seemed and it helped me to feel more in control like I could comfort someone else. And now, after our dinner and our conversation, I knew I was just as vulnerable and wanted his comfort as well.

“I’m not afraid,” he answered and the response was laced with his struggles and his wants. He kicked his shoes off after he saw me do it and I put the DVD in. We climbed onto the bed and sat fairly rigid and untouching for the first twenty minutes as we joked about goofy things in the dinosaur movie. It was out of nowhere when I started to sob. I wasn’t sure why. Did I miss Lori? Did I miss Shane? Was I depressed that I was missing a night with my son. Was I angry? Was I sad? I saw Daryl look over when the first gasp from my quiet sobs escaped me and he scooted closer and put an arm around my shoulder. 

“Need to cry a bit?” he asked with a compassion and an understanding that I’d never experienced from anyone before. I nodded and he turned his body to hug me tight to his strong chest and I wrapped my arms around him to reciprocate. The feel of his warmth was such a comfort. I felt his fingers stroke through my curls as a crowd screamed on the television and the action started. He kissed hesitantly and gently at my temple as he whispered to me that it would be okay.

I pulled back and looked at him. “I won’t ever want or expect anything you can’t give. But…I really like what you are giving me right now.”

“I like it, too. I ain’t never told no one up front what I can’t do. It’s a relief to be affectionate and not have to be scared in the back of my head.”

“Is it okay if I kiss you? You said that was okay, right?” I asked softly as I twirled a bit of his choppy hair around one of my fingers. His answer was a kiss, soft and gentle like a warm breeze against cool skin. His lips parted and I could taste the cherry pie that we had for dessert at the diner. I could smell earth and motor oil on him and those smells, the feel of his muscled back against my hands was so comforting I didn’t think I’d ever want for anything again. 

When we parted for breath, he scooched down on the bed and pulled me close, his hand guiding my head to rest on his chest. God, what would Lori say if she found out I was starting a relationship with a man? What would she fill Carl’s head with? Is she taking him to the funeral? Should _I_ go to the funeral? I watched Shane fall to the ground again in my mind. Again and again and again. Shit. I hadn't cleaned the house. What if Daryl was grossed out that I’m a bit of a slob? What if-” I stopped thinking. 

I took two deep breaths. Five things I see. I see Daryl’s black socks. I see my hamper. I see the TV. I see the plain blue curtain hanging on the single window. I see a star tattoo on Daryl’s hand.

Breathe.

Four. I hear dinosaurs screeching from my TV set. I hear the neighbors in the connected apartment slamming the front door. I hear the sound of Daryl’s breath. I hear the beat of his heart as my head lay still on his chest. 

Breathe.

Three. I feel his thumb gently stroking my forearm. I feel the warmth of his body against mine. I feel him press a kiss to my unruly curls. 

Breathe.

Two. I smell evergreens and motor oil in Daryl’s sleeveless flannel.

Breathe.

One. Taste. I looked up at him, my heart beating calmer, my racing mind clear and I plucked a kiss to his lips. Cherry pie from the diner earlier that night. 

Breathe. I rested my head back down against him and focused on the movie. Focused on what I was doing in the moment. I was lying in bed, cuddled up to Daryl. I was pulling up the bedspread to cover my legs because I felt chilly. I was watching a movie. 

“I like this,” Daryl said softly, as two groups of dinosaurs fought aggressively on screen. And I knew I would protect him like a Tyrannosaurus Rex would protect it’s young. And that I would let him protect me the same way. And I looked forward to my next visit with Angel so I could feel better and get stronger and be a better me for this man who I knew beyond doubt would become an incredibly important part of my life.

**Author's Note:**

> This may have been a little boring but I needed to use fic to reinforce some lessons I’d gotten lately. But good news-- I’ve recently been inspired (from no particular reason whatsoever) to start work on a long fic where the boys meet in their late teens at a mental hospital.)
> 
> Also wanted to note that some of the coping techniques described here help, just in case there's anyone who needs exercises to ground themselves.


End file.
